The Pretend Girlfriend (A Billionaire Love Story #1)(53)

What sort of answer was that? Gwen wondered. No answer at all, really. So what happens now? she thought. Do I call it off? There was a certain appeal to that. However, it meant that Henry won. And that chafed at her like an itchy wool sweater. That man was far too used to victory, and she wanted badly to be the one to humble him.

Why did life have to be so complicated? Nothing was black or white, right or wrong. She hated when people said it, but they were right: everything was really just shades of grey. Real choices weren't simple or clear-cut. In fact, one choice could seem right at one moment and then dead wrong the next. It was no wonder some people became shut-ins, unwilling to engage with the world. Life is messy.

Sometimes, the only thing you can do is place a bet. And that's just what Gwen did. She left her sweating glass beside Aiden's on the banister and went downstairs. With the race happening so soon, the cutoff for betting loomed close.

Gwen grabbed a guide from a nearby rack. It listed all the horses’ names, as well as the jockeys riding them. Beside those were the odds.

Number 13, the one Liam intended to bet on, was the safe choice. Odds heavily in favor of winning. The safe bet wasn't always the best bet, though. Gwen took her place in line, letting her eyes scan down the list. She squinted, momentarily regretting not bringing her glasses. Of course, she wouldn't be caught dead wearing them out in public.

She settled on number 6, a horse named Charlie (hey, she liked puns, okay?). Odds were close to a hundred to one against placing in the top three, and considerably over a hundred for winning the whole kit and caboodle.

She got to the booth. An old man with a prodigious white mustache that made her think of a civil war general sat on the other side. The dome of his bare scalp shone in the light like he waxed it. "Yes, miss?"

She took out her wallet. There was a single, wrinkly $20 in there. Several folds creased Mr. Jackson's face. It was a pretty paltry sum, considering what the men and women in the booths on either side of her were putting down. However, after paying off Patterson Holdings, it was about all the money to her name.

Feeling somewhat embarrassed, she slid the bill across the booth to him. "All on number 6 please."

"Of course," the attendant said. He didn't bat an eye at the tiny sum, or make any sort of comment, and for that she was grateful. He handed back a ticket.

Back on the top level, she took up her position at the banister once more, her ticket clutched in her hands. The jockeys nosed their horses onto the track, taking their positions at the gate. The beasts must have sensed their riders' tension, as they shuffled about and whinnied. Gwen had to admit to a touch of excitement, too.

"On number 6? Interesting choice," Aiden said, coming up beside her and leaning his forearms against the banister, "Pretty risky."

She ignored him, focusing all her attention on the horse in question. He was one of the sand-colored ones. Now was the time, Gwen realized, where in some cookie-cutter romcom the heroine would make some sort of bet with herself to help her in her decision to either stay with or leave the guy. It would go something like: if the horse wins, I keep going, if the horse loses, we call it off.

But of course Gwen wasn't the type of romantic sap to make any such bet. No, not at all. It would be silly, making an important choice like that based on a gamble. Foolish, even.

And that was why she wouldn't buy into any such sentimental nonsense. She was just crossing her fingers and rubbing the ticket because it felt like the right thing to do. Yeah, that's why, she thought.

The starter pistol cracked. Gwen had been so deep in thought that it startled her pretty badly. The gates swung open, and thousands of pounds of horse and jockey spilled through the openings.

Right away, number 13 took the lead. Charlie started in fourth place, but quickly began lagging behind and getting overtaken. The announcer started quickly announcing the positions, so fast that Gwen couldn't make it out. It sounded like a constant stream of baby babble to her, worse even than the mumble of the subway conductor.

The horses threw up clouds of dirt behind them as their hooves dug in for traction. They thundered around the first curve as the gate began swinging out of the way. She could actually feel the vibrations all the way up there. Charlie lost another position, while number 13 increased his lead by almost an entire length.


Liam, standing a few feet down the banister from them, cheered. A lot of people were cheering, actually. Apparently, most of them had taken the safe bet.

"Come on, horse!" Gwen called out. She gripped the banister hard. If she'd had the ability to somehow view herself outside her body, she might have thought it ridiculous just how much she got into the race. But at that present moment in time, her world narrowed until it encompassed only that track.

They rounded the first lap, still in their earlier positions.

Sensing her tension, Aiden put his hand over hers. "Go Charlie! Come on, number 6!" he yelled.

She'd never heard him yell before. He always seemed to quiet and reserved. But his voice projected, apparently. As though he somehow actually heard, Charlie kicked it into high gear. He moved up from last place, edging ahead of a horse with number 2 signs on its sides.

And he didn't stop there.

Gwen had never been so into a sporting event in her life. She felt every inch that Charlie stole from the horse ahead, she cheered each time he passed another.

"Go, Charlie, go!" she called out. Aiden joined her. Her fingers changed from gripping the banister to gripping Aiden's hand. He squeezed back when she did, just as excited.